


Renfri and the Storm Beneath her Skin

by deafeningcolours



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Mental Health Issues, Renfri | Shrike Deserves Better (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deafeningcolours/pseuds/deafeningcolours
Summary: I’ve never posted anything on here before so um. Here’s a vent piece.
Kudos: 2





	Renfri and the Storm Beneath her Skin

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never posted anything on here before so um. Here’s a vent piece.

Anger. The feeling of blazing red heat building up under her skin, crackling like lightning ready to strike at any given moment. The growl of a feral animal ripping through her throat. The pounding of her pulse echoing in her ears. The crescent moons pressed into the sides of her arms. She felt the storm in her festering from the minute she left Creyden. 

She felt it pulsate, ready to tear her to pieces and destroy anyone who’s ever hurt her. Who’s ever touched her. That filthy rat bastard Stregobor. Her mother. Her father. The man  who—

Nevermind that. 

Renfri stares at the reflection in the steaming bath water below her. Peach skin littered with cuts and bruises, caked in dirt that stung with every passing second. Brown curls nearing a matted state from dried blood and lack of care. Large brown eyes that lacked the warmth of chocolate or rich, deep soil. They were the colour of the horse shit by nobles’ carriages after a long journey across the Continent. the colour of the moist earth in a pig’s pen. They were big, fit for a child kinder and gentler than she. Fit for the young princess she could have been. behind the soiled grey-brown, her eyes flashed with the burning desire for carnage. The ache for a tavern brawl. Blood on her knuckles. Red. Like her blouse. Like her anger. Lightning crackles, rattling deep in her bones. 

Renfri blinks. 

She grasps desperately at the edges wooden tub, hands quaking pathetically, the water now lukewarm. She swallows a cuss and dips her head under the water. She thinks of drowning Stregobor. She thinks of drowning herself.

Renfri emerges from her bath feeling no cleaner than when she arrived. The storm shifts inside her. 

_ What a fucking waste of coin.  _


End file.
